” He digested her statement as part threat and part promise. It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. ‘Who, the émigrés?’ ‘Do I speak of the English, imbecile? Certainly the émigrés. Her sadness was manageable only because she was so familiar with its phases, because she could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer studying the moon. Your name?" "Owen Wood," replied the carpenter; "I've no reason to be ashamed of it. " "There was a yacht in the river?" "I have nothing to say. She sensed that he was looking for her.
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